Le Butcherettes
Sin Sin Sin

From slaughterhouse worker to the leading lady of the craziest, angriest, and most non-conformist band in Guadalajara. 

This (summarized in the simplest terms) is the journey of the BUTCHER par excellence of rock'n'roll: Teri Gender Bender, whose real name is Teresa Suárez and - distinguishing marks, or rather the MAIN distinguishing mark - she's at odds with the world. And so, it seems she's also at odds with her musicians, as in just over six years she's changed them, recalled them, and changed them again, switching out about a dozen people in total - Le Butcherettes ARE Teresa, let's be clear, everything else (at least until the release of this first SHOUT of a record some time ago) was purely transient...

...the only permanent member of the band is a (real) pig's head that this young lady, born in '89, always carries with her, as an inseparable fetish/mascot, and with which she performs improbable skits and poses on stage... let’s say, NOT very orthodox and probably offensive to morality and common decency, which we'll skip over in this writing. Also, because enjoying a concert of the "bloodthirsty" is an experience in itself, and how could a dull description with words compare to the wonder of having this raving person in front of you, apron completely soaked with blood, like she's personally slaughtered three pigs or gotten into a machete fight with a couple of adult chupacabras... while she has violent interactions (sexual, of course) with her guitar and thrashes about fiercely between contortions, somersaults, spins - climbing (wherever possible to climb), experimenting with every possible POSITION to play (the ambiguity of the term "POSITION" is not coincidental...); to then liberally wander among the crowd in a bath of blended bananas (!), eggs, tequila, and tomato sauce, and her OWN flesh at the mercy of the melee...

...for all these reasons (but mainly for the music you're listening to on this album)... FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ONLY CONSIDER - in the proper manner - those headlines in Mexico City & its surroundings that heralded Teresa's rise as "the new Latin Bjork." Aaargh. Wonderful, this. We knew of the Icelandic presence everywhere, SHE IS in every place and time, even in lower latitudes. But (said politely this way...) who the hell... can hear Bjork in "Sin Sin Sin" (oh, by the way: the cover is a whole program) except someone who's less in their right mind than Gender Bender after an hour of concert? The answer after the break. Better yet, after DEVOURING in a few bites this steak (aptly said) of 40 minutes of Rock as God intended.

This is the Rock of someone who grew up with (clear) examples from the Garage of all times and ages, from Iggy & The Stooges and their wild ferocity (the girl was a stage animal even before she came of age), from the Nirvana, from Kathleen Hanna and the Riot Grrrls of the '90s, from the Black Keys and the sounds of the new millennium (she didn't escape Jack White, who took her on tour with the Dead Weather). But also allowing herself some luxuries in writing, making this album a far from monotonous or monolithic product...

...because yes, there're shameless guitars and one-and-a-half-minute outbursts (as it should be), but there's also - here and there - that psychotic unusual little keyboard that ends up becoming a characteristic, not just a detail. There's even a '40s jazz vocalese that peeks through a piece (haha, but I won't tell you which one, otherwise it's no surprise...), and there are parts of the text recited with Bacchic fury to make us understand that Teri has given herself more than one orgasm listening to "Horses"... but there are no Watussi nor alligators here (to the wise, a word is sufficient), if anything, we're less poetic and even more explicit (euphemism... the lyrics of "Tonight" say: "anywhere you want, in the mouth, between the legs, behind, even while I sleep, do with me whatever the hell you prefer"; while for "Dress Off" the title is enough, the text is practical exemplification).

On their part, "Henry Don't Got Love" and "I'm Getting Sick Of You" show clearly that the lady knows how to write rough and catchy pieces in equal measure, and instrumentals like "Riko's Smooth Talking Mothers" reveal - that clattering guitar - that the Gang Of Four also made it to Mexico. And "New York" is precisely a succinct and shouted point of view on America observed from the south bank of the Rio Grande... 

...while philosophical/literary ambitions emerge far from timid, rather confirmed by "The Leibniz Language" (already Leibniz is challenging on his own, I'll let you imagine what it can be in a "reinterpretation" by a butcher...) and "Mr. Tolstoj" - which attempts a disjointed and sublime marriage of psychobilly and Slavic-like rhythms, CRAZY STUFF BUT WHAT CAN I SAY...

CARNAL passion for the character and their music - and so, this 4 (and a bit) I would have given, I allow myself to round up...